


No-one Expects The Inquisition

by DelgadoAinley



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelgadoAinley/pseuds/DelgadoAinley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taren is a member of the Inquisition. Not a very good one, her Mage skills are fair to useless, she's too brash to be diplomatic, she's forever getting in the line of fire, bears like her too much and she still can't figure out how Cassandra can march for hours without complaining. But she's heard plenty in her travels about the legendary Commander Cullen Rutherford. Fresh from a successful mission (well, Taren didn't get killed, so she counts it as successful in her book) Taren, Solas, Varric and Cassandra are due to report to the Chantry and detail their mission. Knowing Taren has never met Cullen before, Cassandra offers her up as the speaker. Taren has a vision in her head of an old man, bitter with war and crusty with temper. She couldn't be more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not what she expected.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the title. I've been dying to twist a Monty Python line for years. 
> 
> New to the Dragon Age fandom, so please forgive/assist me with any obvious omissions. Link me to as much Cullen as you can find!

Her feet felt like blocks of wood as she shuffled them into Haven, following Cassandra. The Seeker never seemed to tire, always focused, always bright eyed and bushy tailed and ok, so Taren might have wanted to give her the occasional tap with the staff strapped to her back, but she maintained it was deserved. No-one was that cheery after the three day long march they'd just endured. No-one. Cassandra had no right being so damn cheerful about the march, when the rest of them were dead on their feet. Look at her, carrying her sword and shield without a murmur, whereas Taren had cursed her staff at least fourteen times in the last half an hour. 

To her right Solas gracefully walked, almost drifting above the rocky ground they'd been travelling on, now smoothing out into the cobbles and grass of Haven's outer perimeter. Her fellow mage had commented once or twice on the tedious nature of their trek back, but otherwise had continued on in the same uncomplaining manner as Cassandra. He'd redeemed himself in her eyes by giving her understanding looks and a cool voice when she stopped to kick stones out of the boots she was wearing, or apply a salve to the many cuts she'd seemed to get while they'd come through the underbrush. The fact that Solas was tall, lean and had a face that was as devestating as it was angular didn't hurt either. To her left Varric stumbled along, heavy boots dragging over the rocks. He looked like Taren felt and had been her most vocal supporter so far. 

"So," she said, mostly to break the silence, earning her a questioning look from Solas. He always looked so earnestly interested, which usually made Taren feel like an idiot when she inevitably asked something stupid. "Report back to the Chantry or go to the bar or go see Samiel and see if he has any potion that can cure this pain in my back?" Cassandra turned at the sound of her voice, a tight lipped smile on the beautiful but stern face. She knew Cassandra found her amusing, she just wouldn't relax enough to admit it. 

Taren flashed her a bright smile, which quickly twisted as Varric replied, "I have a pain too, Taren, mostly in my ears when you talk. What can I take to stop it?" He winked easily at her and pointed towards the bar, "Is there ever another option?" 

Cassandra frowned lightly at them both, gesturing with a cuffed hand to the immense doors of the Chantry building. "We have to make a report to Cullen and Leilana, you know that. We must have order..." 

"We must be seen to be doing the right thing," Taren filled in, earning her a barely bitten back smirk from Cassandra. "We are the Inquisition," Taren added. 

Solas chuckled lightly next to her, "I am glad to see that you remember the words so well, Taren." 

She gave him the same bright smile, "Thank you, Solas. Perhaps you could detail our exploits to the Chantry?" 

The apostates eyes twinkled briefly with amusement. "I think not. I think perhaps you had better get over your fear of Commander Cullen." 

Varic paused in mid step, cocking his head towards her, pony tail slopping into his armour behind him. "What's this? Afraid of Cullen?" 

Taren flashed Solas a disapproving look, meeting a face like an innocent stone. "I am NOT afraid of Cullen, alright? That's a vicious rumor. It's just, I haven't met him before and you all talk about his history. He sounds imposing, all that military might and Templar opinion. Even his name sounds stuffy and imposing - Commander Cullen, at your service. Unless you're not a Templar. I'm a Mage, remember? Doesn't he hate Mages?" To her charigin, Varric and Solas were laughing at her expense. Even Cassandra was chuckling lightly behind her hand. "What?" 

"I think perhaps you have the wrong image of Commander Cullen," Varric offered. "For one thing, he's not old and what was it? Stuffy? I have to tell him that, he'll flush as red as his outfit." 

Taren paused, wondering if clonking the Rogue with her staff would be construed well by her advisors. Possibly not. "Don't you dare!" she warned, "Or by the Maker, I'll stick this staff so far up your..." 

"Taren," Cassandra interrupted and this time she didn't fight the smile spreading across her pretty features. Taren took her hand off her staff and trudged up behind Cassandra. "Fine. Fine, I'll tell Cullen how the mission went this time. Maker shame all of you." This time she distinctly heard a snicker from Cassandra. Great. 

Taren had heard all about Cullen from the whispers in the back of taverns and the survivors of his battles, not that there were many. He had a reputation for being a good Commander, just and decisive, the victor of more battles than she'd had working spells (she wasn't the greatest Mage. Especially not next to Solas, the most talented weaver of magic she'd ever seen) His soldiers not only respected him, but flat out worshipped him, some having even left their former Templar commander to lend the Inquisition their strength. From the reputation that preceeded him, she imagined him to be old, gnarled, embittered with a grudge against Mages. He'd been in the Circle hadn't he? Cullen was hardly going to welcome her with open arms, so she didn't get the snickers from the other members of her party. Unless they were snickering because she was likely to get blasted back to the Maker by a telling off from the military legend. Varric would laugh at that, twisted ass that he was. 

Cassandra leant against the heavy doors of the Chantry, "Taren. Perhaps you had better lead us, seeing as this is your first address to your military might." Cassandra's voice was lightly teasing but Taren frowned at her anyway. Just because she was a little intimidated. Taren gave herself a shake, feeling the weight of the staff fall firmly against her shoulderblades as she did so. She stretched out her wrists and cracked the muscles in her neck, anything she could think of before address the waiting members of the Inquisition in the chambers. By the Maker, she needed to get ahold of herself. Taren had faced down demons and dragons. Ok, one dragon. She'd been a decent enough member of the Inquisition so far, holding her own next to the World's Greatest Mage, World's Greatest Rogue and World's Greatest Seeker. Taren had acquitted herself well in battle so far and she was beginning to feel comfortable with the roving warrior life, so different from back home with her Dalish clan. Your Dalish clan that no longer exists, she thought, her heart growing heavy for a moment. She believed in this, the Inquisition, not too sure of her own growing fame as the Herald of Andraste though. She had as much right to be here as anyone. She'd met Leilana, Josephine and Mother Giselle without the same panicky jumping of her heart. 

"Come on now," she warned herself, leaning against the doors with Cassandra to push the solid weight open. 

Solas and Varric followed behind her, Varric's heavy footfalls and Solas, as quiet as the coming night. The latter laid a hand upon her shoulder gently, "You will be alright, Taren," he offered, "Who knows, perhaps you may even realise Commander Cullen is not quite as you picture him to be." 

She raised two dark eyebrows his way, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

His eyes remained impassive, "Nothing, Taren. Now, will you escort us into the chambers or are we to stand forever in the open door?" Taren closed the door behind them, allowing Varric and Cassandra to slip past her, the two of them looking much more at home in the impressive building than she did. Cassandra seemed almost born to it, despite the weight of the silver armour and shield she carried. Her cropped dark hair fell in a pixie like fashion around a warriors face as she turned to look up at the venerated statues lining the way to Taren's doom. Ok, so maybe not her doom. Her embarassment at least. She knew she was going to stumble over words and the gruff old man would probably send her back out to the Hinterlands for proving useless. It was just like Cassandra to look effortlessly beautiful in a savage, graceful kind of way, whereas Taren knew she had to stink of the bears they'd killed and the sulfuric scent of the magic she'd conjured. Varric rested his hands in the pockets of his tunic, easy like. 

"Shall I go tell the...what was it...old man the hunters are home?" He teased. Taren raised a middle finger in a gesture the Maker would most likely not approve of. 

The door to the inner chamber creaked open, as if a heavy weight were leaning against it. "What's this about an old man? That'd better not be a remark towards me, Varric." A deep, rich, gruff growl of a voice came from the open door, making Taren spin around. 

Oh. 

Well, he wasn't what she expected at all.


	2. Even a  mighty Templar Knight needs help with their...uh...might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Cullen Rutherford is not the grizzled, growly old wizened man Taren had pictured him as. She'd got growly right, but the rest was as far from the truth as the Maker could push it. Her speech recounting the mission they'd undertaken goes well, right until she manages to insult the Templars, Cullen and the entire male gender while she's at it. On the bright side, a dangerous mission to Val Royeaux on the trail of rebel mages might just give her time to hide her face.

Varric snorted in response, "Cullen, you gotta face it, not all of us can age as well as me." This time Taren heard a low, deep snort of laughter and the creak of the wooden door as she turned. Commander Cullen was not old, or grizzled, or short and stout as she'd made him in her mind. He was none of those things and yet he was everything that her companions had made him out to be - the Lion of Ferelden, a warrior, the former Knight-Commander, the one who could lead Templars from their leader and ally them to him with nothing more than his reputation. He was all of those things. He was also the kind of man that made her heart stutter in her ribcage and her throat suddenly go dry, but of course, an Elven mage assisting the Inquisition would never notice such things. At all. An Elven mage assisting the Inquisition would also not lose the power of speech, or find herself staring intently at the floor like it would suddenly open up and tell her the meaning of life. 

"Makers breath," she muttered to herself, thankful for Varric's barrel chest and the wide expanse of Cassandra's shield, both hiding her from Cullen's view. "Pull yourself together," she warned. 

Solas half turned at the sound of her muttering, "Nervous, Inquisitor?" he asked, amused, startling Taren out of her reaction to Cullen. Was Solas actually amused? Was he actually teasing her? 

 

"Seeker," Cullen greeted Cassandra, who gave him a slight nod of the head, "We await your report of the mission. There's some troubling news from Val Royueax and the Templars there we need to quell." He gestured through the door to the chambers beyond, where the war table would be decorated with maps and drawings, all by Cullen. Taren had never met him before, but she'd met the things he left behind. the trappings of his life; the intricate drawings and plans, the maps so detailed that she swore she knew every tree on the Stormy Coast by name, the scent of the ink that lingered in the room and the crimson feathers that inevitably fell from the ruff that settled on his shoulders. As Cassandra replied to him, Taren took the opportunity to gaze at him, just once, in a purely Inquisition manner, purely for the purpose of gathering information about her advisor and not at all because looking at him seemed to be like lyrium in her blood. 

 

He was still half leant against the door, muscled arms clad in leather and the silver glow of his armour. His hands were bare save for bruises on his knuckles and a heavy looking gold ring totally not on his wedding ring finger not that she was looking at all and Maker, Taren, stop rambling before it comes out of your mouth. The muscled arms were folded across a broad chest, leather armour wrapped around a dark red undershirt bearing the insignia of the Templars. A heavy looking cloak of pelt and fur was draped over shoulders that seemed to fill the doorway, shoulders she could easily hold onto. Not that, that was what she was thinking. She was a mage for Makers' sake, she'd be lucky if Cullen didn't have her head on a pike. The broad chest narrowed into leonine hips and wide, muscular thighs, powerful and boot clad feet shoulder width apart. Bringing her eyes back up, she found herself staring with a start into intelligent amber eyes. They were wide with some emotion or thought she couldn't place, a definitive, masculine face that gave further hint to the Lion in his nickname, some prowling beast beneath the skin. Full lips were skimmed in a smile, the top one marred by a scar that ran through it and just above. Blonde hair - no, not blonde, she decided, blonde was too pedestrian a word. His hair was sunkissed strands of golden light, ash blonde streaks here and there, amber and honey, swept back from his temples like he'd been running those thick fingers through it repeatedly. Golden eyebrows narrowed slightly over those eyes, focused intently on her. 

 

"Hallo." Somehow he managed to contain the whole world in one word. "So you're the famous Herald of Andraste, I was wondering when I'd get to meet you." 

Taren bristled, famous indeed. "I'm not famous," she replied, maybe a little bit too sharply, making one of those eyebrows arch, the full lips twitching in...was he amused? "I never asked to be your Herald. I helped out so Cassandra didn't murder me. " This time Cullen snorted with laughter, scratching idly at bronzed whiskers shadowing his jawline. 

Cassandra turned, her own eyebrows raised in astonishment. "I would not have murdered you!" she announced, sounding hurt. 

"Yeah, yeah you would have Seeker, don't deny it," Varric interrupted in her defence.

"Nevertheless, it remains that Taren was not murdered and Cassandra does not have any current plans to murder her," Solas mentioned calmly, glancing between the four of them with something like detached amusement. 

 

Cassandra half turned to face Taren. "Taren is a valued member of the Inquisition and indeed our Herald of Andraste. Perhaps too modest a Herald." 

Taren snorted herself then, "Right, well then, I only want crimson furs in my bedchambers." Oh. Fantastic, Taren, talk about your bedchambers in front of Cullen. Who is currently wearing a dark crimson fur on his shoulders. Brilliant, really. You should just lay out on the floor, it'd be less obvious. 

Her cheeks flushed violently as Cassandra turned back to Cullen. "Don't play with the Herald, Commander."

Cullen gave a low noise in the back of his throat that had Taren's head snapping back up. "Really? I get so few things to give me...pleasure in Haven," he drawled, before his eyes widened, as if in astonishment at his own words. The high cheekbones flushed as violently as Tarens. 

"Forgive me," Solas announced suddenly, standing next to Taren. "You know Taren's name and little else, Commander Cullen. She is of the Dalish and kin to me I expect, somewhere down our bloodlines, perhaps intertwined, Lavellan?" 

Cullen's jaw tightened, the honey eyes hard as he glared at Solas. "Right," he snapped. "I'm Cullen," he introduced himself, sticking out a bear paw towards Taren. She took it, feeling the warm fingers swallow her own. His forefinger ran over her knuckles briefly as he squeezed her hand, Taren remembering to return the pressure before he let go. 

 

"Just Cullen huh?" Varic interrupted, "This Taren, is Commander Cullen Rutherford, former Knight Commander of the Templars, the Lion of Ferelden, current cheater at cards and all round assh..." 

"SHUT up," Cullen barked, the sound gruff, falling like a stone into the now sudden silence of the antechambers. Taren tried not to smile, but failed, hiding her mouth behind her hand as she looked down at the floor. She raised her eyes after a moment, feeling the weight of someone watching her. Probably Cassandra, shaking her head at her for not possessing the innate grace the Dalish were supposed to be born with. It was Cullen, looking at her from under his eyebrows, a smirk tucked into his whiskers. 

 

"Who are you telling to shut up?" A brunette woman, most of her burnished hair covered in a light purple hood, shadowing the classically beautiful face that hid within, appeared in the doorway. "Ah, Herald, you're here. We've been waiting for you. How was the march?" Taren smiled, feeling relief touch her shoulders. Leilana was perhaps the Advisor she liked best. She was graceful and intelligent, passionate about her faith but open about the struggles she sometimes had with it, like the Maker's will in their current situation. Her honesty was refreshing in the current explosive atmosphere of lies between Mages and Templars. Leilana adjusted the hood, her clear gray eyes narrowed as one pale hand tapped impatiently on the door. "Don't insult the Herald, we need her. Insult Varric. Taren, could you tell us of the mission please?" She asked, backing away into the shadowy recesses of the War room, beckoning them on. 

Varric harrumphed, but followed her. "Insult me cause you don't need me?..." his low level rumbling could be heard near Leilana's elbow as he entered the room. Cassandra shook her head at Taren mildly, before entering also, Solas and Cullen dawdling near the entrance, well, as close as the pale architecture of the elder Mage could get to dawdling. 

 

Cullen stretched out against the wall, one boot hooked over the other, "Not teasing at all, is it Taren? Come, I'm eager to hear how you slew dragons." He winked at her, making her start, before he bent his head to enter the War room. There was definitely a smirk tucked into the rough golden whiskers she decided, following him. She hadn't hunted dragons at all, she'd run screaming from bears, but he didn't have to know that. A distinct muttering came from Solas behind her, but the serious face was still as she glanced back. A small smile tucked onto her own face, looking for Cullen as she stepped into the burst of light over the table, offered by the candles above. Taren's eyes sought out the Commander, who seemed to have changed completley in the few seconds between the antechamber and here, in the War Room. The man in front of her was lit in candlelight, angled shadows cast back over his face, throwing his eyes into the color of sunset stormclouds. His lips were thinned, a quill tapping against his jawline as his gaze moved backwards and forwards over the map. Cullen hardly seemed aware that they had entered the room, though Taren would have guessed he knew the precise second each of them had entered. His other arm was locked across a broad chest, pushing the burnished silver breastplate against his collarbone. His coat was settling around him as he watched the map. "The rebel mages are gathered here," Cullen muttered, dropping the quill forward to tap the parchment map. "To move against Fiona now would be suicide," he responded to Leilana's earlier comment. "Send a party in there, have them scout out and report back, then move in force once we know the technical advantage, Leilana." Her own lips thinned and she tutted in agreement, before looking up at them all. 

 

"Taren, your report please," she said politely, "You would have come near to the rebel outcamps in your travels, what can you tell us specifically about them?" Taren crossed her arms, the better to look like she had any idea of what she was doing. She cleared her throat and spoke, trying to keep her eyes away from Cullen at the head of the table. His hands were spread on the map, shifting his fingers over to the areas she was speaking about, his eyebrows narrowed as he listened. Crap. Was she saying something wrong? Had she inadvertently revealed that she'd fled bears at a pace that would impress the Maker. Taren stumbled over her words then, making Cullen look up. She stumbled into nothing, silence filling the room as a flush filled her cheeks. Varric said nothing, Cassandra looked at her comfortingly almost, the stern face almost soft as she silently encouraged Taren to continue with her report. Solas, as usual, slightly disapproved. 

 

"Taren," her name sounded like midnight wrapped in velvet in that voice. She looked up to see the golden storms of his eyes looking at her patiently. "The rebel mages are camped near the ruins of the old temple you say?" Her train of thought suddenly reconnected - rebel mages near the ruins of the old temple, that's right, the sudden orbs of energy that she'd seen, the magic that had made the hairs on the back of her arms raise, the unerring sense that the magic they were using was wrong, there was something...other, something dark about it. Her words came quicker, more confident now as she outlined the rest of their trip. Cassandra was nodding now, giving her a short, sharp smile and interjecting before Taren had finished speaking to tell them of the ragged battle they'd come from. Cullen gave her a frown and a quiet, unhappy noise at her interruption, turning his attention back to Taren. "What's your assessment of the rebel mages, Herald? Do we investigate now or wait until after our problem in Val Royeaux is fixed?" 

 

Taren flushed again, what was he asking her for? He was the commander with the long, reputable history. She was a mage, one of the ones he hated wasn't she? Her words slipped out fast before she could think about them. "Wait, until after Val Royueaux. The mages we saw were mostly untrained and foolish. Their use of this kind of magic is more likely to destroy them before we get a chance to. Your problem in the region is more immediate, they're organized and therefore more dangerous," Taren finished succinctly, summing up her thoughts. She realised it had probably come off as arrogant and raised her eyes. Cassandra and Leilana looked impressed, sharing a look and a smile between them. 

Cullen's face was almost unreadable, apart from warm eyes. "Impressive, Taren," he said a moment later. "That's my assessment precisely. Tell me, have you been reading my notes?" He gestured towards the rough leather journal of his that lay on the desk, where he kept a record of such discussions in the War Room. A lifetime in the bureaucracy of the Templars had not yet left him.

She frowned, "I have not!" she exclaimed, Cullen's eyes widening at her outburst. "I can come up with my assessment on my own, you know. I might not be a great and mighty Knight Commander, but I do know something about the state of the world out there. And I know a bunch of untrained mages when I see them, Ser Rutherford, but by all means, tell me I must have copied a good idea from you! Even a mighty Templar Knight needs help with their...uh...might!" 

 

Taren glared at him, conscious of the burning in her blood and the flush in her cheeks. Arrogant asshole. Thinking no one else but him could make any kind of assessment on anything, excuse her for not being Templar material. Varric was chuckling next to her, low and happy, making her lips twitch in a smile, which only angered her more. Varric's laugh was infectious and she didn't want to laugh right now. Cassandra was staring at her hands with an expression of mild shock, unused to the breach of propriety. Leilana was laughing too, a sound like the babbling of a brook. Even Solas was smiling widely, which shocked her. Cullen said nothing, which gave her a rough jolt she wasn't expecting. Had she hurt his feelings? And what if you did, Taren? He was in the wrong. He merely continued, pointing at the map and detailing how they should detail their mission in the province. A tic pulsed in his jaw and his eyes appeared a shade closer to sunset rather than sunrise, not that she was looking, but otherwise Taren couldn't pick any reaction from him. Cullen carried on with their work as if her outburst hadn't happened. She didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful and instead settled into a sullen silence behind Solas. 

 

The plan unfolded neatly in front of them, the Inquisition markers that Cassandra insisted on moving to assigned spots on the parchment map. Cullen remained leaning over it, occasionally leaning on one elbow to allow his other hand to write notes in the leather bound journal. Taren watched from around Solas' shoulder, who'd moved slightly to cover her, occasionally flicking his eyes in her direction. Varric, Leilana and Cassandra were all grouped around the table too, Varric occasionally looking between Cullen and Taren with a smile on his face that she couldn't quite place. "Is this agreed?" Leilana asked after Cullen had finished talking and Cassandra had finished telling him why he was wrong.

Cassandra folded her gauntlets neatly, grudgingly agreeing, "It is a good plan." 

Cullen gave her a gruff nod, "I said it would work and it will. Taren's suggestion set me thinking." Taren looked around Solas to see Cullen's gaze looking for her. He frowned at Solas, "Move, you're blocking my praise here." Solas arched a thin eyebrow over the aristocratic expression but shifted slightly to the left, leaving Taren more exposed than she wanted. "Am I forgiven, Herald?" he asked, winking at her. The expression on that face was an angel caught doing wrong, so boyish and innocent that a smile found itself wrestling with her attitude. 

"Fine," she muttered, smiling finally and staring at the floor. "You're welcome, Commander Cullen. Even Knight Commander's need a little help with their military might I guess. Anytime you need more help..." 

 

Solas began to laugh then, startling her, it was so rare that Solas displayed an outburst of proper emotion like that. "I do believe the mage has you down, Cullen," he snorted. 

Taren frowned up at him, stop mentioning she was a mage, before Cullen remembered he hated them. Cullen grinned, showing shark like white teeth and dancing eyes. "Not yet she doesn't, Solas."


End file.
